Leftovers
What is an orgasm but the mind’s most innate high,
A very present, very pleasurable detonation in the timeless now.
A disintegration, a dissolution, of any sense of self, of any sense of separation.
Is it any wonder our species gallops the edge of obsession about everything to do with it?
Sexuality is the wellspring, the underlying force, the fulcrum of human history.
Power, renown, prosperity, the creativity of art, science, technology,
All have come about as aphrodisiacs to its gratification.
And all of it the evolutionary outcome
Of the genomic ambition to abide evermore.
* * * *
If history has proven anything,
It is that far too many always manage
To talk themselves into just about anything.
* * * *
What is any history, any saga, any memoir, any narration,
But a set of partial perceptions of one mind or many,
Precisely asserted by one storyteller or another.
What really transpired any given here now
Is likely always a dubious assumption.
* * * *
Many require some vintage time
For any writing to be worth considering,
As if the weight of history really means anything.
* * * *
When you say “I Am,”
Is it with or without the body,
And all its imagined history in mind?
* * * *
What is history but the recycling of monkey-mind patterns bred in the jungles of long ago,
Regurgitated daily with new permutations and technologies seasoning the feast of dreamtime.
* * * *
The you that you play is but history.
The You that You really are is eternal.
* * * *
It is a more-than-well-documented-very-historical-across-the-game-board fact that the multitudes
– Crowd, horde, throng, pack, flock, herd, mass, host, gang, mob, rabble, call it what you will –
Can be easily manipulated to, with extreme enthusiasm, go along with just about anything.
* * * *
It is unlikely the account, the saga, the legend, the myth,
The self-imagery anyone has playing over and over in their minds,
Would, much less could, ever resemble the one history would carve into stone.
Assuming, of course, that some chronicler would ever even be inspired to scribe anything.
Ultimately, all forms are but anonymous, vaporous ghosts in the mists of time.
* * * *
The Lost Tribes: Is it really just about some ancient desert peoples forced into exile?
Or could it be about the unique few whose inexplicable destiny it is
To someday awaken to what they actually are?
A Tribeless Tribe, so to speak.
As with anything, as with everything, it is what you make it.
What is any history but a temporal means to sustain, to bolster, the given cultural mindset.
* * * *
Do not fool yourself that it was anything but vanity
That brought Jesus to Jerusalem and cast him into history.
Whether innocent or calculated, his demise was as predictable as any
Who brashly, foolishly, fly in the face of the powers that be.
Might has always made right, and it always will.
To accept it as some deity’s intention
Is a mortal game of thrones,
To which no one ever need subscribe
If they have the wit and courage to stand alone.
* * * *
The crippled beggar in some gutter
May be the richest man in all of human history.
And the Midas with castles of gold across the globe, the poorest.
What is enough, and what is not enough?
Attitude is all.
* * * *
The unfolding history of every generation
Sows the seeds of both agony and ecstasy
For the progeny, and the unborn beyond.
* * * *
History as it is unfolding is less about academics than it is reaction to the given moment.
It is only as the gaze broadens to the larger context, that perspective
Begins the slow process of reflection,
That will one day harvest a footnote in some chronicle.
* * * *
History is so much greater than any culture, any philosophy, any mound of gold.
And the world, the universe, the quantum field, is far greater than anything imaginable,
And the unknowable, the indivisible, the nothingness, prior to all manifestation, is trump to all.
* * * *
This dreamtime offers any educated mind incalculable ways to discern, to filter, this quantum theater.
Historian, scientist, mathematician, philosopher, anthropologist, sociologist, psychologist,
And on and on and on for minds born with the grit and gumption to learn.
* * * *
What is human history but the ever-predictable monkey-mind,
Rolodexing its muddle of consciousness over and over and over.
* * * *
Human history is the synergy of the tribal mind evolved in the jungles of long ago.
The mind bent towards one groupthink or another, be it family or community or nation state.
Sometimes the connection is social; other times economic or religious or bloodline.
Whatever the case, every ripple in this time-bound human paradigm
Is linked to the unalterable genetic coding within all.
* * * *
What is the main reason for the study of history,
But fathoming how our kind reached this point in dreamtime.
We do not have to keep repeating our patterns, continuing our collusions,
But the possibility of any meaningful change is right up in there with the flying pigs.
* * * *
History is but smatterings of stories passed down from generation to generation.
Much of it egocentric-ethnocentric-geocentric braidings of imaginary notion,
To which the blameless future often incoherently, irrationally, binds itself.
* * * *
What is any historical notion, whether individual, or tribal to whatever scale,
But consciousness playing out its perpetual vanity-vanity-all-is-vanity cadence.
* * * *
History being what it is, the vanities being what they are,
You may as well play it out as anonymously as possible.
* * * *
What is this magical-mystery dreamtime
But a teensy-weensy sliver of imaginary perception
Sandwiched between the pre-historic and post-historic unknown.
* * * *
Human history is chock-full at both ends of the bell curve
Of the few both making it up and fucking it up
For the many in the vast between.
* * * *
Violence, and our kind’s unfailing willingness to use it,
Is written and unwritten in histories across all times and geographies,
And is daily splayed in every media that technology allows.
* * * *
What is the point, what is the reality, of any story, any chronicle, any history,
Once all trace, all recollection, of it has been lost in the mists of eternity.
Ask the forest tree, fallen and decaying, unwitnessed and unheard.
* * * *
If you operate under the premise that you are ultimately screwed,
Why not play it out in whatever way or ways call out to you.
Family, friends, acquaintances, might take notice,
But rest assured that history will not long remember.
* * * *
More than 99 percent of all species, amounting to over five billion,
That ever existed in Earth’s 4.54 billion years, are estimated to be extinct.
The history of humankind’s ascent is like the history of extinction.
The far greater percentage is long undone, long forgotten,
And for all practical purposes, never happened.
* * * *
What is history but a perpetual game, to which chess and go and dominos are but artless analogies.
It is an ever-streaming, ever-emanating, ever-graceful, temporal play of consciousness.
Imagination given context in the hologram-matrix of quantum space-time.
* * * *
Were the so-called seers and mystics and prophets in ancient times and places, early scientists?
Or merely charlatans taking advantage of fearful, gullible flocks for their own ends?
Any answers are but assertions of one unverifiable speculation or another,
But of the muddled, tangled histories played out since, we can be much more sure.
* * * *
The entire human spectacle, and all its countless histories,
Is nothing more than ever-changing, temporal, imaginary perception.
A make-it-up-as-we-go, spontaneous kind of thing, that really is not any thing at all.
A holographic dream, which all are genetically programmed, culturally conditioned, to play along.
An enigmatic quantum reverie: nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
Very bemusing to all concerned, indeed, indeed.
* * * *
All time, all history, all narration, whether individual or cultural,
Is nothing more than the play of consciousness, a paradigm of imagination.
All illusion, all delusion, all nothing more than the existential collusion of memory cells.
You are, have ever been, will ever be, the ever-present, right-here-right-now of eternal awareness,
The singular observer, the solitary wanderer, in the infinite-infinitesimal
Of nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
* * * *
The curious thing about human history across all times and geographies,
Is that once vanity relegates any fellow humanoid to any so-called lesser kingdom,
Any and every variety of abuse or enslavement or extermination is allowed.
* * * *
There are no attributes, no patterns, no systems, no laws, no histories,
No quantifying measurables at all in the immeasurable indivisibility.
* * * *
History will write what it writes, and time will erase it all.
Who is the who, who cares, is the last question standing.
* * * *
Every generation plays out the window of time
That the reverie of history offers the given geography,
As it plays out in the ripples flowing to and fro across the world.
From all beginnings to all ends, it is very much a choiceless reality for all.
* * * *
The so-called scriptures are not really belief systems.
They are histories, archives, field guides, instruction manuals, schemas.
Insights set down by seers across time and space who have discerned the mystery firsthand.
Does the quantum indivisibility need to worship the forms into which it is made,
Some imagined sculptor, or the essence that is its truest nature?
Does it really need to venerate anything at all?
Is not simply being enough?
* * * *
What is each and every imagination-born existence, but a brief window of history.
A brief flickering of light and shadow, playing out in the dreamtime of mind.
A brief span in which awareness witnesses a timeless creation born of consciousness.
A kaleidoscoping quantum theater playing itself real over and over in every conceivable way.
* * * *
Every mind has its rhyme and reason, its raison d'être,
And whether or not others become interested in the trove of its wanders.
Is a matter only history, in one future-past or another, will tell.
* * * *
The entire human spectacle, with all its histories, whether written and unwritten,
Is nothing more than collusion founded upon the capricious spark of imagination.
* * * *
We have witnessed history play the same record over and over and over again.
The players change, the technologies change, the universe changes,
But the monkey-mind is ever a Shakespearian collage.
* * * *
In this manifest dreamtime world, history has countless times proven that might makes right.
As Vegetius put it in De Re Militari: si vis pacem, para bellum, if you want peace, prepare for war.
Anonymity is the first line of defense, the second is to be a chameleon, to avoid becoming a target.
From then on – care you to abide, care you to survive – whatever level of readiness is required.
* * * *
So much time already passed, so much history already written,
How much more can be left in this dream of human consciousness?
* * * *
Will anyone really miss you when you are dead and gone?
Perhaps a few, but not for long, and when they too have departed, none at all.
You will at last resume the anonymity, the obscurity, the extinction, the oblivion, the nothingness,
All histories, all chronicles, all narratives, all annals, all accounts, all sagas, have in store.
* * * *
The masses do not fathom their fleeting context in history.
Their prevailing disquiet is the existence they must daily endure.
And thus unfolding events careen misinterpreted to and fro about them.
* * * *
At best you might do something
That might slightly spin history some new direction,
But what is history but imaginary notion
Given credence by the same.
* * * *
There is history everywhere in this world;
Only a relatively small scratch of it recorded.
* * * *
What perception has ever been real?
What perception has ever been more than an imaginary notion,
Combining with other notions to make a sizable collage of arbitrary notions in each and every mind;
The synergy of which compounds into a very much unrehearsed human paradigm.
All history is nothing more than the perpetual vanity of consciousness
Playing its make-believe game of space and time real.
* * * *
A moment is only wasted
If you fail to give it full attention free of recollection.
History is written by the living dead.
Eternal life is now.
* * * *
All histories are ever forgotten or misconstrued or revised,
As they were never more than make-believe from the get-go.
* * * *
All histories, all stories, all accounts, all chronicles, all parables, all narratives,
All folklores, all legends, all myths, all sagas, all fables, all fairytales,
All tall tales, all fish stories, all jokes, all puns, all yarns,
All anecdotes, all witticisms, all descriptions,
Are imaginary from any get-go.
* * * *
In the no-mind, there is no history, there is no buddha, there is no you.
There is merely the eternal awareness, the ever-present, indivisible now.
* * * *
Abandon the mind and all its thoughts of identity and personality and character.
All the histories, all the narrations, all the time-bound concoctions you imagine real.
Be the awareness, the stillness, the emptiness, the nothingness, you timelessly are.
* * * *
You were born again many, many times
Before imagination did a gradual sunrise in your mind,
And the rest is a history only you can know.
And everyone else the same.
* * * *
History is matrix woven of ecstasies and agonies, glories and horrors,
To which the indivisible, timeless awareness has always been witness.
* * * *
What a human-born absurdity to strive to be a historical footnote.
Even more so to be the title to a chapter, a book, a movie, or a college course.
And wackiest-beyond-the-pale of any and all is to be the source-point
To some obnoxious, overbearing, sanctimonious religion.
* * * *
On to the next moment: On Rudolf, on Dasher, on Dancer,
On Prancer, on Vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donner, on Blitzen,
Charge on and on and on, always on into the blizzard of history’s unfolding.
* * * *
The entire human paradigm
Is but a bare scratch of earth’s history,
And far, far less in the cosmic genesis before that,
And who can ever know how many more creations before that.
Turtles all the way down does not even remotely grasp
The depthless depths of this boggling mystery.
* * * *
History tends to forget all but the most key players,
But in every story ever written, in every story never written,
However grand a part, however trifling a part, each and every one
Has been center stage in their own version of the play.
* * * *
What is history but a collection of ambiguous perceptions,
Superimposed as reality, oftentimes for ulterior purpose.
* * * *
The chronicles of human history have as much chance of surviving as we do.
Do not assume the aliens will bother with writings and ruins
Once the protein source has disappeared.
* * * *
When you were young, time did not exist because there was no history
Against which to ruminate, to evaluate, to estimate, to duplicate, to reflect,
You were free of the weight of mind, of ego, and all the bother of self-imagery.
To discern that state of rejuvenation, to throw off the yoke of time, is the challenge.
* * * *
The burden of time,
The burden of history,
The burden of tradition,
Are the burden of mind.
Soundbites
Who survives and who breeds is history in a nutshell.
* * * *
All histories are but vague notions, all biased one way or another.
* * * *
The end of history, the end of time, the end of mind.
* * * *
You never know what ignorance and stupidity will do with a little history.
* * * *
It is the patterns, not history, that repeat themselves.
* * * *
The weight of history makes pawns of the living.
* * * *
Vanity and greed daily mock the lessons of history.
* * * *
History is laced with many a shallow grave.
* * * *
History is an ever-leaking bucket of metaphors.
* * * *
History is but a fluke of evolution.
* * * *
History is best used as a tool for reflection, not an end in itself.
* * * *
Every history a black hole of inaccuracy.
* * * *
You live the given life, and history does with you what it will.
* * * *
History streams on, its passing untarnished by wisdom.
* * * *
So much history to ignore in these our modern times.
* * * *
Every generation pays one price or another for its little window of history’s unfolding.
* * * *
What is any history but vanity given the weight of time.
* * * *
So many lies history has fed you.
* * * *
History is an albatross, sometimes boon, sometimes bane, to any given modern world.
* * * *
History is only rarely written by the losers, and even more rarely by the dead.
* * * *
What is any history but a collection of half-truths all too often given cultish credence.
* * * *
History is chock-full of nebulous assumptions, about which our attachment harbors few bounds.
* * * *
The terrible horrors of human history, even demons sometimes shudder to fathom.
* * * *
Is any history ever anything more than a collection of vague perceptions?
* * * *
As we are judged by the friends we keep, we are judged by the history we allow.
* * * *
History is the albatross every culture hangs upon its young.
* * * *
History daily playing out its sorry future.
* * * *
History only has as much weight as imagination gives it.
* * * *
History will run your show if you allow it.
* * * *
History is not soda pop.
* * * *
Yet another indecipherable footnote in the annals of history.
* * * *
History as we know it is full of self-serving bunk.
* * * *
Yet another idealistic notion for which history has at best rudimentary interest.
* * * *
Why would you ever feel required to play it out the way history dictates?
* * * *
And what part and particle of all history have you not ultimately witnessed?
* * * *
History sows all futures.
* * * *
All histories are a mirage born of the vagaries human consciousness.
* * * *
History does not repeat itself, but the patterns do.
* * * *
You may know history, but do you understand it, do you feel it in your beingness?
* * * *
And to whose history might you be referring?
* * * *
History: All true; all false.
* * * *
Imaginary as it is, we are all drug along in the wake of history’s future-past.
Breadcrumbs
These many thoughts are left for humankind’s unfolding reverie,
Written by a witness, a seer, who was born in 1953 A.D.
To what duration he cannot at this writing say.
Geographically, it was called Northern California
During the agricultural-industrial-technological epoch
Of the United States of America, a nation-state
In what seemed the zenith and early decline
Of civilization as he elected to perceive it.
But history knows many such epochs,
So the accuracy of all predictions in time
Is for future scholars to ponder and pontificate,
As they always have, and undoubtedly, always will.
* * * *
These many thoughts, well, they are sort of a long-view-Johnny-Appleseed thing.
Good old vanity playing out the delayed gratification that history offers the dead.
* * * *
The eternal historian.
* * * *
Into history, I Am, once again.
* * * *
Toying with human history’s future-past,
A verbose back-burn, so to speak,
For what dreams may come.
* * * *
Passed it out randomly, indiscriminately, to see all the reactions,
To see how it plays out, this gambit with the history of humankind.
* * * *
Toying with history one ditty at a time.
* * * *
What is the point of writing these many thoughts, anyway?
Who will ever read any more than a few handfuls of them, at best?
How many better-written things are already published out there already?
“Why?” you ask.
Because these many thoughts, like pencil sketches to an artist,
Come unsolicited in the day-to-day wandering walk-about.
And, by golly, it’s just another way to pass the time.
And, frankly, it’s just straight-forward amusing
To tweak a bit with history’s unfolding.
And, no worries if nothing ever comes of it.
* * * *
How these words will play out in history’s unfolding,
The scribe can only wonder, but does not pretend to know.
Just a large collection of random thoughts that came spontaneously
Which he wrote down because the mystery had shaped him into a witness.
Is it a message of the divine, or just the inanity of a foolish madman?
You decide, if you have the inclination to traverse the attempt.
* * * *
The most effective way to yank anyone off a pedestal is to pounce on their character.
Well, Jesus probably was not all the propaganda of history has made him out to be, either.
Two thousand years of dissimulation makes for a nice handicap in the idolatry games.
* * * *
These thoughts might be revolutionary if they had been among the first,
But early they are not in this Ponzi scheme of history’s viral outbreak.
* * * *
Know enough about history to toy with it,
But to change, even modify it, in any meaningful way
Is not highly favored by probability at this late stage in the game.
* * * *
I am often almost forgetting me;
Why should I hope more of anyone else?
History is nothing more than the imaginary realm
Of the many-faced other.
* * * *
A history teacher in college one day out of the blue pointed to a few of us and said,
“You are a historian … You are a historian … You are a historian … You are a historian … “
At the time it meant nothing – zipped past the youthful head of innocence, so to speak –
But in the years since, the realization of what he meant has taken unforeseen wings.
* * * *
Likely more of a personal online scrapbook than anything of history-making consequence.
* * * *
Few ever know of writings such as these in the time they are written.
It is for history to note whether or not they unfurled in the winds of consciousness.
Will they be known, will they be lauded, will they be reviled, will they play any meaningful part?
Or will they merely have been an amusing pastime of yet another forgotten mind?
* * * *
Nope, I am not Buddha, nor any other historically significant noteworthy.
This round, I am called Michael, sometimes Mike, and Holzblowzer by Blane.
Rose-by-any-other-name monikers that have well-served this mundane existence.
* * * *
I am every filter the capacities and limitations of this mind will allow into its frame of reference:
Philosopher, scientist, historian, anthropologist, psychologist, sociologist,
Politician, warrior, and on and on the list daily grows.
* * * *
Without history, what are we?" Merritt reflected in one many, many moons ago chat.
"The same nothing we are, have always been, will ever be," this I would answer now.
* * * *
Do not know why some folks think I am so negative.
I am very certain, very confident, very positive, very optimistic,
That the remainder of human history is going to be bent over in many, many ways.
And there ain’t no lubricant on the market gonna be much help.
The Corollaries of Yaj Ekim
Gianni Grassi a.k.a., Yesei Kaige (Wild Spirit-Precept Flower)
Outlined the evolving WHO-WHERE-WHEN-WHY-WHAT-HOW of humankind's rise,
That he calls "The Historical Transformations of Buddhasapience"
Buddha 1.0 ... Identity ... WHO
200 to 50 thousand years ago ... Warm Climate ... Gathering ... Ritual Burial
Buddha 2.0 ... Locality ... WHERE
50 TO 10 thousand years ago ... Glaciation ... Hunting ... Shamanistics
Buddha 3.0 ... Periodicity ... WHEN
10 to 3 thousand years ago ... Glacial Thaw ... Cultivation ... Astrologics
Buddha 4.0 ... Universality ... WHY
3,000 to 600 years ago ... Hyper-Population ... Trade ... Metaphysics
Buddha 5.0 ... Objectivity ... WHAT
600 to 60 years ago ... Isolation ... Institution ... Science
Buddha 6.0 ... Emergence ... HOW
60 years ago to present ... Emergence ... Networking ... Synergistics
Yaj Ekim's Corollary:
Emerging ... Networking ... Synergizing ...
But into what in what sort of a dystopian, Frankensteinian creation are we talking about?
Thanks, but no thanks.
* * * *
Common Meme:
History repeats itself.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
History does not repeat itself; the patterns do.
* * * *
Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address:
Four score and seven years ago
Our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation,
Conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Yaj Ekim’s Corollary:
Do not be deluded about the fact that the United States of America,
With its Declaration of Independence, Constitution, Bill of Rights, and who knows how many laws,
Was founded upon the genocide of the Americans who inhabited it long before Columbus,
The enslavement of tribal peoples abducted from their village homes in Africa,
And destruction and annihilation all across the planet ever since.
George Orwell in Animal Farm:
All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.
Thucydides in the History of the Peloponnesian Wars:
Right, as the world goes, is only in question between equals in power,
While the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.
The Way It Is (An Unfinished Essay)
It is a curious thing to me, and I am sure many others …
A collusion of imagination
You cannot save the planet until you understand inwardly, at a quantum level, that you are the planet, and the universe from which it is spun.
Make-believe, a world-wide game of make-believe.
A wake-up called for the human species. Sort of an emperor’s-wearing-no-clothes moment, if you will.
It is a very curious thing how imagination rules the human drama. It is the source of everything we do, everything we as a species have created, and yet we have not come to grips with it enough really understand it, or to use it in ways that are truly harmonious and relatively beneficial to all, and to all those yet unborn who will follow.
We are endlessly caught up in all the assumptions, all the differences, all the polarizations, all the absurdities over this or that. We seem unable to fathom the fundamental commonality of the mortality that we all endure. We seem unable to see that everything is connected, everything is made of the same clay, everything is swimming in the same quantum sea, everything is of the same origin. Whatever name or belief we may give it, and there are so many across the world throughout human history, we find every reason to create further division rather that surrender to the simplicity, the indivisibility at every core.
No matter your color, class, caste, creed, culture, language, sex, class, all the things you imagine you are, at the source we are all very much the same. We all love, we all hate, we all cry, we all work, we all consume, we all feel alone, we occupy ourselves in every way imaginable.
This is not an ideal, this is a fact. We have so much more in common at the primal source than can ever be imagined. It is unfortunate that most of us are unable to discern this simple truth, that we are so caught up in our individual and cultural histories, and all the beliefs they have inspired, that we are unable to work together to achiever our full potential, to realign with this amazing pearl of a world, this wondrous garden, that we have so badly damaged in every way.
We are so caught up in our greed, our self-interest, our divisive beliefs, our security, our politics, our color, our sexuality, divisive this, divisive that.
Everything we think is imagined. Everything about ourselves, everything about others, everything about our geography of origin, everything about our world, everything about the universe, everything about anything … is imagined. All our inner struggles, all our outer struggles are born of imagination.
The choice between heaven and hell, between harmony and disharmony, between peace and war, is a choice each of us in every moment makes.
Prior to consciousness, prior to imagination, we are all very much the same.
We can emphasize the differences, or we can discern the unimpeachable commonality.
And we are quickly running out of time. The decisions we are making together every moment of every day, the synergy of all our actions combined in the play of time, are creating a future that few of us would likely want to endure. And yet we give so little thought to the world that our grandchildren, their grandchildren, and the grandchildren a thousand years hence – assuming we as a species, assuming this garden of a planet, can even survive that long – will endure.
A very curious thing, indeed, how imagination rules the human drama.
Surely, I am not the only one who feels like an alien here.
Standout Duplicates from “The Return to Wonder”
Chapter Five
These words are solely to dispel the delusion
That you truly exist as anything other than the entirety.
And how does one whole being treat any other?
Perhaps a little more compassionately
Than history has thus far noted.
Chapter Seven
Anyone claiming to be the key, the middleman, to the answer.
Is setting you up for one of the best scams history ever devised.
* * * *
What to do with history and its countless mythologies born of time and circumstance.
Every language, every tradition, every ceremony, every symbol, imaginable.
The freest spirits throw off the yoke of even being a human being.
Chapter Eight
What irony that those history anoints worthy of note
Were so often callous liars, cheats, thieves, and murderers,
Who used the coin of their realms to acquire a redeeming image.
* * * *
Interesting how so many of our kind
So earnestly strive to be known, to be remembered.
Some sort of survival mechanism deep within the genomic structure,
That histories across time and space well know as the cause of many an absurdity.
* * * *
Many a scientist has through microscope and telescope discovered
What seers across time and space intuited long before history's origin.
Chapter Sixteen
In the realm of the inadvertent consequences of its historical emanation,
Humankind is not leaving itself much scope for viable engagement.
In current jargon, it is coined “painting yourself into a corner.”
Leftovers Added to “The Return to Wonder”
Chapter Two
What is the Bible but a poorly organized history book, laced with smatterings of wisdom,
Certainly, no greater than any other so-called scripture written across this temporal orb.
Chapter Five
History is whatever each of us thinks it is, and much of it absurd hogwash.
Time always boils down to be here now, and enjoy or endure it as best ye may.
Chapter Fifteen
True religion is much more than regurgitating some historic dogmatic notion,
That is really no more real and true now than it was in the way-back-when.
Leftovers and Soundbites
Transferred to “The Return to Wonder”
from “Breadcrumbs 2019” and All Future Times Beyond
Chapter 250
History is testament to hell on earth.
* * * *
History will consume you if you allow it.
* * * *
No individual or group changes the course of history.
All merely play out their relatively insignificant part
In its already-written-in the-sands-of-time chronicle.
Chapter 251
Hell is in the details, and history is creator of its future-past.
Chapter 253
The end of the story is the end of history.
* * * *
History: read it and weep.
Chapter 255
What is any history but the fog of perception.
Chapter 257
History has proven over and over again, that anything can be usurped.
Chapter 259
Never trust history to tell you the truth.
* * * *
No history can never be more than a story.
Chapter 260
History is everywhere and nowhere.
* * * *
History is relative to every eye that discerns it.
Chapter 266
So much history before all the history we think we know.
* * * *
You owe history nothing but what you freely consent.
Chapter 270
History kills everyone sooner or later.
Chapter 271
History comes, history goes, but the passions are ever the same.
Chapter 272
All history is nothing more than the pretense of imagination.
Chapter 276
To break with history, with the chains of time, is the only true freedom.
Leftovers and Soundbites Transferred
to “The Return to Wonder” from “Breadcrumbs 2018”
Chapter 278
Histories often whitewash truth, and even more often wash it away completely.
Chapter 283
We are all windows of time watching history unfold.